


parallel lines

by ofrainyskiesandviolets



Series: derry girls: trying to be pretty canon in between episodes [2]
Category: Derry Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, Feeling Misplaced, Friendship, Gen, Homesickness, Ruminating, i promise i'll put clare in a story it just hasn't happened yet, references to self harm, there's cursing but that's just derry girls ya know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22689244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofrainyskiesandviolets/pseuds/ofrainyskiesandviolets
Summary: Post 1x2.It's the night after they almost burnt down Fionnula's. James wishes to escape to Paris, or maybe just set himself on fire as well.
Series: derry girls: trying to be pretty canon in between episodes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615570
Comments: 8
Kudos: 82





	parallel lines

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: some references to self harm, nothing that graphic really  
> i feel as though all the stories i’ve written in regards to this episode are about the girls’ disappointment, but i’m a sucker for james so what am i gonna do besides write a james story??  
> also i know i said i was gonna try and be pretty canon, and i am, but i’m definitely taking some creative liberties too lol.  
> please pardon any mistakes–i do go back in and reread to try and catch them. i'm always making little changes in grammar and punctuation

James longs for the ambiguity of life in a big city. Derry is a dreadful, smothering heap of a place, and since coming here he’s felt like he can taste it draping itself over his lungs, leaking inside of him with its languid fibers and sinew. He feels like he’s melting under the pressure of being the odd man out. What is there in this town for him? A cousin who borderline bullies him, friends who aren’t really _his_ friends, a school he doesn’t belong in. There’s not much here.

But it’s not like there was much in London either. Just the sense of feeling like his mum wanted him—that would be nice. 

The prospect of going to Paris had excited him because it was something new and big, where he would’ve been able to feel like he was shedding London and Derry and shifting into a completely new life, and new state of James, even if just for a week or so. 

Though he supposes it wouldn’t do much good, with the girls keeping him in their travel circle simply because he was Michelle’s cousin. Maybe he would’ve been able to split off for a little, relish in wandering busy streets with no one but people who have no clue who he is. 

Sometimes life was too overwhelming for him. Even in London, he was prone to stretches of feeling like everything was smothering him—his skin was too tight and his brain was swollen in his skull. Since he got to Derry, that feeling had risen, come to a crescendo when his mum left him behind, to the point where he feels like he doesn’t ever want to leave this house—maybe even his room—again. That probably wasn’t good. His stepdad would be worried, if he’d been there to know; James doesn’t like to worry Paul though, so he supposes it was good he wasn’t here. It would just make him feel worse. 

Back in London, he’d done some bad things when he felt like this. Only sometimes. Almost never in a way that could seriously harm himself, but Paul had found out and made him promise not to do anything like it again. His stepdad wasn’t there to stop him, but it hurts to go against his wishes. He had been so upset that day. It scared James to see him like that. His mum had cried, even—she never cried, not even when he had a terrible fever and was in hospital when he was ten. (He wasn’t even allowed rubber bands after all that, his parents had been shitting it so hard about him snapping them against his wrist, worried it had been the gateway into the other things)

Instead, after the fiasco at the chippy, he forces himself to take a walk through the city, force his mind away from thieves and mayonnaise and Paris which would now never be, reminders of his failures and mistakes. His aunt was upset with them, but she still relented and allowed him that small bit of freedom. He thinks maybe she feels bad for him. 

James wants to be alone so bad. He sits on a bench after a long stretch of wandering, lays his head in his hands and shudders. His skull is pounding. He hadn’t even cared about the actual trip that much, but he needed to get out. Sometimes it was like there was no hope for him to feel truly at home and at peace. 

“James? What are you doing?” Erin’s voice cuts through the otherwise silent night. He hadn’t even heard her walk up. It’s jarring. When he looks up, she and Orla are standing over him, shoulder to shoulder and back-lighted by the street lamps. 

“I was taking a walk. What are you guys doing?” He’s not near their home, but he can see the shops down on the road, small lights twinkling in the distance. 

“Auntie Mary sent us for pizza, since we can’t go to Fionnula’s,” Orla answers. Her hood is pulled over her head, curls barely peeking out. 

“You know, James, walks require walking,” Erin quips, hands in pockets, shifting her weight between her legs. 

“Yeah, I know, I just stopped. Took a break.” He feels a little interrogated. Very interrogated. Erin looks at him suspiciously and internally he’s begging for her and her cousin to just move on and leave him be. 

“Ay, he’s upset about the Paris trip. He doesn’t like being in Derry very much, do ya?” James' frightened by Orla’s ability to pick up on things so easily. She’s scarily on-the-nose; he’s barely known her for a week and he already knows that. Both quick to get misled and quick to understand what people are doing and thinking. He guesses there’s no point in denying it, and mutters some vague affirmative. 

Erin and Orla sit on either side of him. Orla presses her arm against him and though he gets the sense he should feel uncomfortable with that (he barely knows her, after all), it’s strangely comforting. The autumn air is cooling rapidly, and her body provides some sort of warmth against the biting cold. Maybe they do care about him, at least a little bit. Something in the back of his brain disputes that, but for once he’s able to shut it off and enjoy feeling like maybe he’ll have a friend soon enough. It wasn’t like he was popular in London, but even so, Derry is incredibly lonely, and even in moments when all he wanted was to sit in solitude, he was still crushed by the complete emptiness of life here, the lack of relationships and love. 

“What’s wrong with Derry?” Erin asks. For all her talk of its flaws in her journal, she was very defensive of the town as well. She spoke about it with love and care, and it reminds James of how he would talk about London. 

“I don’t know… It’s just different, I guess. I don’t think I really belong here.” 

“Well, that’s okay. I don’t think anyone does.” Erin’s sentiment is simple and strange, but it comforts him. A lot. So far, he’s noticed that Derry’s made up of people who are strange and brash and acts in a way that stands out even among all the other people. Weird in their own ways, all unusual and not quite the same. It reminds him of London, in a way. His favorite part about big cities was all the different people, blending together in a blur of motion and quirks that turned the streets into a breathing, palpable life of its own. Though it lacks the same anonymity, it’s nice to realize that Derry is very similar in that way. At least there was something to enjoy in this town, in case the girls crowding him on the bench decided they didn’t like him after all. 

Erin starts into action and says she’s sorry for running off like this, but Ma Mary will have an absolute fit if they don’t hurry up. She drags Orla away from the bench and takes off down the street towards the shops, a mission in mind. Orla calls out a goodbye as she follows, and as James watches them speed away he realizes that, oddly enough, he does feel a bit better now. Their footsteps echo off the cobblestones and reverberate through the air. 

He also drags himself off the bench and heads back to his aunt and uncle’s house, home, he supposes. Along the way, his foot catches a loose rock, broken off the streets. It’s small and sharp, and James bends down to pick it up, runs his hands over it and shoves it in his pocket. 

When he gets back to the house, Deirdre chides him for being gone for so long, then tells him he missed tea; Michelle calls him a dickhead, then ropes him into helping her with her maths homework. He isn’t that great at math himself and despite feeling a little less distraught, he’s still absolutely knackered, but he sits next to her on the floor, back pressed against the sofa, and works through some of the problems with her.

Something that surprises him is that he’s a bit more warm in this house than he’s felt before. The ache in his chest that longs for his flat, stacked high above the busy city and its life below, is a bit duller. It doesn’t bite at him as firmly as it did before. His Auntie Deirdre brings a plate into the living room and sets it on the table.

“I popped this in the oven for you, though it’s a bit dry since it took you so bloody long to get back.” As usual, she speaks with a bit of a hard edge to her voice, but there’s no malice in it, and something about the small gesture overwhelms James with gratitude, to the point where he feels the stinging pressure of tears forming behind his eyes, and his voice is suspiciously thick when he tries to thank her. 

“Ach, could you quit crying on my paper for one fucking second, ball-ache?” He can’t even be offended. The familiarity of Michelle’s insulting manner is almost helpful sometimes. He isn’t sure he’d be able to wrap his head around it if she suddenly stopped insulting him. 

When they finish her homework, Michelle gripes, “Well, that was pure torture. You’re a fucking boring tutor, you know that, James?” It rings somewhat like a thank you. 

James washes his plate off for his aunt and then excuses himself to his room. He places his new rock on the dresser with his other little bits of London: the small statue of Big Ben his best friend had bought him in year seven, the rocks he’d picked up over the years–one from his mum’s beach wedding with Paul, one from the playground at his primary school, ones from the streets and parks–and his little glass deer his mum had picked up for him when he was twelve and had decided they were his favorite animals in the world. The small chunk of Derry fits in well with the rest of the objects. Another little piece of home, even if it was just temporary.

That night, James falls asleep, more comfortable than normal resting in the grooves of the guest bed. His bed. The blankets feel a bit more like home.

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like james is such a sad little lad and i like to explore that angst.  
> sorry it's a bit shorter than my other pieces. also if you read my story Yesterday, you might remember that i also mentioned him collecting rocks as a kid in that too, and i don't know why i've decided he has this penchant for stones, but it seems plausible.  
> ALSO, dude i swear to god i'm working on stories for other fandoms too, but these are my only one-shots so they come out faster. i'm trying to finish my multi-chaps before i post them so i don't abandon them lol


End file.
